


We’ve Held Fire Long Enough To Learn

by jeanny



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Dean, Fake Science, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Language, Minor Canonical Character(s), Original Character(s), Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-20 11:41:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8247466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeanny/pseuds/jeanny
Summary: Safe to say the Winchester boys were a big disappointment to The Angel Program. Sci Fi AU with Powers!Teenchesters. Written for 2014 SPN Summergen for amanofmydreams on LJ.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cleaning up and realized I never posted this to AO3! Title comes from a lyric from an Elton John/Little Richard duet because I struggle with titles. Also because in this AU ‘verse impossible things happen (because science!)

May 31, 1997 – Sioux Falls, South Dakota

 

The man is just sitting on the porch, weathered ball cap pulled low to shade his eyes. He might be napping as he seems not to pay attention to the black Ford Taurus with government plates despite the cloud of dust that kicks up in its wake. The dog at his feet seems elderly but interested, and Victor Henriksen hasn’t missed the fingers tightening on the shotgun lying plain on the man’s lap. He’d gotten the lowdown on Bobby Singer from the local sheriff – a drunken cuss still reeling from the death of his wife, but from all accounts the closest thing that the Winchesters had to family. This is not going to be easy, Henriksen thinks to himself, especially since his partner Cal Reidy is already buying into the myth that was growing about those boys. Cal nods to him as they swing open their car doors and step out in unison, a synchronized cop ballet just like on television. Henriksen plasters on a smile. No reason they can’t start this out pleasant.

 

“Good afternoon,” Victor calls out as the car doors close with a muffled double thump. Both he and Cal freeze at the distinct sound of the shotgun being pumped. Hendricksen can’t say he’s surprised. So much for pleasant. The two federal agents raise their hands to hold up their FBI badges. “Agent Henriksen, Agent Reidy, FBI. Looking to speak to Bobby Singer.” He puts no question on the end of that sentence and the man just snorts and lifts the shotgun higher, vaguely aiming at the car between them. The man’s hand is steady and the old hound dog lifts his head and glares at them balefully. It growls at them, edging closer to its master though it’s already practically lying on top of the man’s feet. Singer murmurs something to it that the agents can’t make out and the dog subsides. In Henriksen’s peripheral vision he can see Cal is holding his breath.

 

“I don’t much care if you’re Donny and Marie, I’d like you to leave my property ‘less you have a warrant, Agent,” the grizzled man growls, adding in a mocking tone, “And please don’t insult me, son, it ain’t me you’re after.” The hound barks softly and settles his head on his paws, casually watchful.

 

“We just have a few questions, Mr. Singer,” Reidy chimes in, “About the Winchesters? Dean and Sam?” To their surprise, the man starts to laugh, albeit with little humor.

 

“Oh, I expect you do. Don’t expect you’ll find the answers you’re looking for though. If you didn’t get the message and you don’t read the papers, I betcha got CNN in your government-funded hotel room. That Wolf Blitzer fella is all over the story. Me I’ve heard all I care to.”

 

“Blitzer doesn’t know where they are now, sir. Seems no one does. That right?” Victor says, chancing a step towards the porch, hands still in the air. The gun doesn’t waver but the finger on the trigger doesn’t twitch either. “But you see, I don’t belive that. Because you’re practically family to those boys. Uncle Bobby, right?”

 

“They mighta called me Uncle when they were small,” Singer grudgingly admits, then his glare grows hotter. “Mind you that was before law enforcement handed them over to those Order of Paragon bastards and those lowlifes killed my wife. Oh and then labelled me an ‘unfit parental figure.’ All the while the government turning a blind eye to things,” Singer spits out bitterly. “As far as those boys are concerned, I’m just one more who left them to deal on their own.”

 

“You’re saying they haven’t been in touch with you,” Henriksen states in flat disbelief.

 

“Those boys ain’t idjits, son,” Singer answers incredulously. “Nah, they’ve gone to ground and heaven only knows when we’ll see ‘em again, any of us. Probably not until every last soul that’s linked to that damned Angel Program has been dealt with. Why don’t you two go get on that, then? You do your jobs and actually arrest all those sons of bitches and maybe the boys can quit hiding.”

 

“That would be a whole lot easier with their help,” Henriksen tries to persuade. It’s not really his concern what the government will want with the Winchesters beyond their ‘material witness’ status and frankly he doesn’t care, but this geezer doesn’t need to know that. He does his best to look earnest but he can tell Singer’s not sold.

 

“The other...victims haven’t been exactly helpful, and we don’t really know how to help them with what they’ve been through,” Reidy continues with more genuine sincerity. “Sam and Dean, they could be of a lot of help for the victims and to help us bring down the people who did this to them.”

 

“Balls,” Singer swears softly to himself. He lays the shotgun back on his lap, waving at them to lower their hands. The older man removes his hat and scrubs his hand through thinning hair. For a long minute there’s nothing but the soft mosquito hum of early summer. “If I talk, will you leave me in peace?” Singer finally asks and Henriksen lifts an eyebrow. He didn’t expect the man to give in so easily, if at all.

 

“We aren’t looking to arrest anyone here, Mr. Singer,” is the agent’s reply and all three men recognize that it’s not an answer. Reidy looks like he wants to add something but meets Hendriksen’s cool gaze; he says nothing. Singer finally nods grimly, gesturing with the shotgun to the cooler at the edge of the porch and then setting it aside, though still within a hand’s reach of distance, the agents both note.

 

“If it’ll get you gone today, I’ll tell you what I know. It’ll be easier telling with a beer.” Reidy accommodates him, hands him the dripping bottle and Singer grunts his thanks before taking a swallow, then sighs. “I might be boring you if you know more than you seem to, but I guess the best place to start is the beginning. When he was about four, Dean got real sick...”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

January 22, 1984 – Lawrence, Kansas

 

“I don’t understand...Michael’s Sword? I’ve never heard of it,” Mary Winchester repeated, the pediatrician’s words swirling around and still not making sense. Her oldest boy, the light of her life, would be five in two days. He couldn’t be dying of an incurable disease, not in this day and age, those things still didn’t happen. Did they? John stood like a statue at her side, unblinking in shock and what she feared might already be grief.

 

“It’s very, very rare, Mrs. Winchester. Probably one case in a half a million children. It does have a basis in genetics, however, so your other boy...”

 

“You think Sammy could have this as well?” John asked, his voice so strangled that Mary wouldn’t have recognized it if she wasn’t watching him speak. “Would there something that you can do if he does?” Mary couldn’t help but let out a cry as the pediatrician shook his head sadly.

 

“Dean...how long...?” Mary couldn’t finish the question. The doctor shook his head.

 

“It varies, but not long. No more than a year, it could be much less.”

 

“This can’t be happening. There must be something,” Mary said, her voice shaking. John tried to place his arm around her shoulder but she shook him off. “No, John, I can’t lose my children!”

 

“Mrs. Winchester, I’m so sorry,” the doctor murmured. “I’m afraid there’s nothing that _we_ can do.” Mary froze, looking up through her tears at that peculiar emphasis.

 

“What are you trying to tell me? There’s someone you know that can help my son?” she asked sharply. The doctor pulled a crisp white card from his drawer, dropping his gaze to it, not meeting her eyes as he pushed it towards her.

 

“I think there might be.” Mary snatched up the card in shaking hands, her jaw tightening with determination. She read it quickly before handing it to John.

 

“The Angel Program?” John queried dubiously. The doctor shrugged, still looking vaguely uneasy.

 

“It’s apparently some research think tank specializing in rare genetic diseases, particularly in children. They’ve expressed some interest in Dean’s case. Incidents of Michael’s Sword are quite rare as I’ve said.” He shook his head. “Nothing has been published, I’m not familiar with their work, so I don’t know if they can help. It might all be snake oil and I’m sure it’s not without risk or cost.”

 

“Cost doesn’t matter, this is our son’s life, maybe both of our children. If there’s the slightest chance, we’ll take it,” Mary stated fiercely, her glare daring her husband to contradict her. John Winchester’s slumped shoulders were answer enough, but he nodded.

 

“Anything to save our boy.”


	2. Chapter 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

_Transcript from **Newsmakers with Carol McKinnon** , original air date September 24, 1989_

_**HOST:** Carol McKinnon_

_**GUEST:** Brother Zachariah, Order of Paragons_

_**HOST:** Recently the public was made aware that, for the past thirteen years, children from all over the country have been taken away from their families or caretakers and placed into a facility called The Angel Program, without any fanfare or publicity. According to the press releases put out by the Order of Paragons, the religious organization that runs this program, the children there have been “holistically treated to unlock and achieve their potential.” Our guest today is Brother Zachariah, who is the official spokesperson for the Order of Paragons and the head of the Angel Program. Welcome, Brother Zachariah, to Newsmakers._

_**GUEST:** Thank you, Carol, it’s great to be here._

 

__**HOST:** _ _ _I honestly have so many questions I don’t know where to start. Before this story broke I, as well as most of our viewing audience, had never heard of your Order. What can you tell us about the Order of Paragons?_

_**GUEST:** Well, Carol, I’m afraid I’m going to have to correct you about your use of the term ‘religious organization’ to describe us, though I totally understand the confusion, with the robes and the ‘Brother This’ and ‘Sister That.’ (chuckles) But the Order of Paragons is not religious. We’re made up of people from all walks of life and many different religions, probably more than a handful of atheists. (clears throat) I myself don’t prescribe to any particular faith, I think of myself as – uh – a spiritual person._

_**HOST:**  I see. So what kind of organization is this then? Something like the Boy and Girl Scouts?_

_**GUEST:** Hmm, not quite. I’d call us a group of like-minded individuals who have dedicated themselves to a lifetime of service to finding a better way to raise our children._

_**HOST:** Why would that be something that’s needed?_

_**GUEST:** Most people would agree with us, Carol, that our educational system has failed our children, the health system has failed them, their government has failed them. But the dirty little secret that no one wants to admit is that it’s also their parents who are failing them. Too many children are malnourished and sick and uneducated and affected by poverty and crime. Even kids who are being raised in by middle class parents are often falling victim to neglect._

_**HOST:** Those are harsh accusations._

_**GUEST:** I would say the truth often is. Our order is made up of world-class doctors, teachers, personal trainers, nutritionists, scientists, psychologists, all of whom have given up their jobs, their families, their very names in order to pursue the common goal of helping disadvantaged and neglected children achieve their full potential. We styled ourselves after a traditional monastic order to demonstrate the level of commitment we have to this cause. The Angel Program is about helping to form the brightest, strongest, healthiest, most well-adjusted young adults. As they graduate our students are being mentored by the best of the best, drinking in everything the mentors have to offer so that they too may one day take their place as the movers and shakers of the next generation._

_**HOST:**  That all sounds very ambitious. Brother Zachariah, I don’t feel like we’re getting a full picture here. What are you saying this Angel Program do that America’s doctors, educators, parents can’t?_

_**GUEST:** In a word? Focus. We are completely and totally focused on these children. It’s all we are about. It’s all we do. And the results are amazing, Carol. Trust me when I tell you we are bringing heaven to earth._

_**HOST:**  Well I am intrigued and I’m sure our viewers are too. When we come back, I’ll have more questions for Brother Zachariah and we’ll have an opportunity to meet some of these children. Some of the first graduates will be with us to share their experiences. How should we be raising our children? Stay with us._

  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

November 4, 1989 - The Angel Program Special Kids Facility

 

The Angel Program Complex known to most people was in a town on the outskirts of St. Louis, Missouri. Its bright halls and brighter students were photographed and discussed and interviewed by newspapers large and small, and they’ve been profiled by network news shows and smaller local television news. While the premise behind the program was controversial, most of the stories had a positive bent, and even the harshest critics admitted they couldn’t find anything sinister going on there.

 

The complex that housed the heart of the Angel Program had no official name; it didn’t officially exist. The children that lived in both places in many ways were treated the same. They were educated, clothed, fed with the same food; they were seen by many of the same counselors and doctors and nutritionists and athletic trainers from the Order of Paragons. It was not the similarities that were important, of course. It was the differences.

 

At first, the arrival of the Winchesters was unremarkable. The boys were still in shock, not understanding what was happening to them or why, one silent and numb with grief, the other younger boy asking repeated questions until a gesture from his brother made him. None of that was all that unusual in Brother Castiel’s experience. They had let the boys stay together through the initial examinations; it kept them calm and compliant. It wasn’t until Sister Naomi asked one of the guards to escort Sam Winchester to Quarantine that things got interesting. The ten year old boy who had not yet uttered a word, who had regarded the staff, infirmary, even needles with dull disinterest, was suddenly in the dark-haired woman’s face, emerald eyes blazing.

 

“He stays with me,” the boy stated, his voice husky from disuse and smoke. The Paragon doctor frowned, taken aback, but gestured to the guards to proceed. They stayed where they were, expressions of surprise mirrored on their faces.

 

“Take him,” she scowled at them, not understanding their hesitation.

 

“We can’t. Something’s...holding us in place,” one of the guards gritted out, his tone equally annoyed and impressed as they eyed the young boy.

 

“That’s impossible. He’s too young,” Naomi scoffed. Castiel regarded the brothers with new interest. Dean’s body was rigid, sweat darkening his brow. The older brother had pushed the younger boy behind him. Sam Winchester was peeking out from around his brother’s shoulder. He seemed more interested than frightened, obviously confident that his big brother could hold off this threat.

 

Castiel had seen enough. He stepped between the doctor and her patients, causing the woman to focus on him.

 

“Sister Naomi, did you have a chance to read Brother Zachariah’s report on the Winchesters?” he asked mildly. The doctor shook her head haughtily, clearly annoyed at his interference.

 

“I skimmed it for information on their physical condition. Both are in excellent health, minor smoke inhalation and the older boy had some mild burns that were already treated. He also noted no need for quarantine for Dean, but that Sam-“

 

“Did you happen to read the part about how the boys escaped the house fire?” Castiel cut her off and her frown deepened.

 

“I don’t see the relevance, Brother Castiel. Please stand aside and let us handle this.”

 

“I said, Sammy stays with me!” the boy repeated emphatically. Naomi let out a small shriek as the metal drawers and cabinets all flew open at once and various sharp instruments floated into the air. Castiel hid a smile. Dean Winchester had clearly been paying closer attention to his surroundings than they had thought. Of course, he was currently the one in the line of fire for the flying surgical implements, so it was best that he takes care of it.

 

“I think it’s a better idea that the Winchesters stay together for now,” Castiel said calmly. He met Dean’s defiant gaze squarely. “Please release the guards and put the medical supplies back where you found them.”

 

“How do I know I can trust you?” the boy asked uncertainly. It was clear that he was growing tired, but the scalpel aimed at Castiel’s eye didn’t waver.

 

“If I am lying, you can always stab me later.” To his surprise the boy almost smiled and the items were gently placed back where he found them, though the drawers and cabinets remained open. The freshly released guards made their way towards the boys but were halted by Castiel’s commanding hand.

 

“You have no say in this. Standard protocol-“

 

“Standard protocol applies to children who are unaware that some children are special, Sister, do you really think that applies in this case. Sam clearly knows his brother is special.”

 

“Uh-huh,” the boy chimed in, “Dean’s Superman. He saves me.”

 

“That’s because you’re Lois Lane, twerp,” his brother taunted, the smaller boy instantly rising to the bait.

 

“Ew, Dean, that’s a girl. I’m not Lois Lane, I’m...I’m Superman’s little brother!” the younger Winchester declared hotly. Dean mussed his brother’s hair as they pushed at each other in the manner of small boys. Both seemed to have forgotten the impasse between the adults in the room, but Castiel had no doubts that Dean was as focused on their stalemate as he was on distracting his brother from it.

 

“We need to separate them, they’re already too close. And if we let them get their way in this they’ll be uncontrollable.”

 

“They were completely compliant until you tried to separate them. They just lost their parents, Sister Naomi, they need time to adjust. I will take full responsibility with Brother Zachariah, and we can consult with Sister Josephine on the best way to separate them without trauma. Or if you’d rather proceed I’ll get out of the way so I’m not the first one to bleed.”

 

“Fine, Brother Castiel, it’s on your head.”


	3. Chapter 3

May 31, 1997 – Sioux Falls, South Dakota

 

“So they let Sam and Dean stay together?” Reidy scratched his head in confusion. Singer shook his head.

 

“No, they had no intention of doing that, but the head-shrinker they made the boys go see advised that they go slow with it. So bit by bit they made it harder for the boys to speak to each other, to see each other, to spend any real time together. Dean saw it coming, and he had a plan...”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

_Journal entry by Dean Winchester, decoded_

 

11/30/89

 

Dear Sammy,

 

I’m starting this out that way cuz if anyone is reading this it better be you, Sammy. Sister Josephine recommended that I write down my thoughts, and so I am. But I’m writing in that special code that Dad taught me. I’ll be teaching you, too, so you and I can tell each other things and no one else will know about it. They’re going to try to keep us from spending a lot of time together so this is how we’ll talk once you get the hang of it. Thank God you can already read and write as good as I can, you freak.

 

So, where do I start? My name is Dean Winchester and I’m ten years old, I’ll be eleven in a couple of months. I like baseball and Led Zeppelin and I used to want to be a fireman when I grew up.

 

Four weeks ago today our parents were killed. Our house caught fire with all of us in it, weird fire that chased us through the house. I was able to get out with Sammy ~~but Mom and Dad were~~ I blasted through the wall with my mind, which should have been cool but it makes me sick to think of it.

 

I can do stuff like that. I never knocked down walls before that night, but I’ve been able to move things and stop things by thinking since I was six. Mom said she first noticed it when Sammy started walking, he never fell when I was watching him. I stopped all his falls. (You’re welcome.)

 

When I told Mom what I was doing she got really scared. She and Dad insisted over and over that I shouldn’t ever use my power ever again, no matter what, and especially not where someone could see. I guess they didn’t want anyone to know they had a freak for a son. They even talked about leaving town, but they were afraid it would look suspicious. I don’t know why, but that’s what Dad said. They were worried all the time because of me. You never got to know them before, when they laughed and were happy and Dad didn’t drink as much or fight with Uncle Bobby.

 

Dad told that if anything happened to him and Mom, we’d go live with Uncle Bobby and Aunt Karen. It scared me when he said that because I could see he was scared, too. But that’s not what happened. Some scary dudes in robes and some scarier dudes in suits showed up instead and then we were here. They call it the Angel Program, but it ain’t Heaven. Unless everyone in Heaven is a dick.

 

The first thing these boneheads did was try to separate us. I got some practice holding and moving things, and I would have hurt them if they’d tried to take you. But that one guy here that maybe isn’t a total douche worked it out. Then they talked about my gift, and they said I was a special kid because of it, and that’s why I had to be here. That’s why Mom and Dad wanted us to come here instead of go to Bobby’s, because if I have one freaky power I might get more, and you could get some too.

 

I don’t know if I believe that, Sammy. I do believe that this is all my fault. I’m no Superman, Sammy. Mom and Dad would still be alive if I was.

 

Dean

 

P.S. No chick flick moments when you read this, Sam. Got it?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

November 5, 1989 – Lawrence, Kansas

 

The young officer sighed as he closed the file marked Winchester on his desk. His eyes strayed automatically to the picture on his desk. His beloved Brenda holding baby Maureen, two sets of sky blue eyes staring lovingly back at him. What would he do if something happened to them? He pushed the thought away as it felt like tempting fate, then looked up as he heard his name. Officer Caldwell came to his office door and entered with a single knock, a somewhat grubby and unkempt man with a ball cap in tow.

 

“Harlan? This is Mr. Singer, he’s here about the Winchesters.”

 

“Thanks, Will. Mr. Singer. I’m Harlan Brass, good to meet ya,” the young officer said, grasping the man’s hand in a firm shake as he regarded him with sympathy. He could see the marks of exhaustion and grief and his eyes briefly strayed to the photo again.

 

“Likewise, though I hope I’m not offending if I say I wish I never had to,” Singer replied, sinking into the chair that Harlan wordlessly offered and waving off other hospitality.

 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Harlan said, the words feeling as inadequate as always. Singer looked as awkward as he felt.

 

“Thanks. John and Mary were...they were good folks. They didn’t deserve...I’m sorry, but...Dean and Sam. Please tell me those boys are all right.”

 

Harlan made a show of looking through the file, gave the other man a moment to compose himself.

 

“They weren’t injured in the fire. According to the fire department, a wall near their bedroom must have collapsed when the fire spread and the boys were able to escape that way. They had some minor smoke inhalation that was treated at the scene, but no burns.”

 

“And John and Mary?”

 

“They were in another part of the house, the fire seemed to burn hottest there. They were gone before anyone could...the medical examiner, he said it must have been quick, if that helps.”

 

“But the boys made it out because the whole bedroom wall just…fell? That isn’t kinda unusual?” Singer frowned.

 

“Well, yeah. Very. It fell outwards like it was bulldozed, not sure I’ve ever seen that,” Harlan replied, trying to ignore the feeling of unease he got whenever he read through the inspector’s statements. “I expect if someone digs in deeper they’ll find some kind of explanation. The good news is those boys got lucky,” Harlan said, blushing when he saw Singer’s flat glare. “Err, well, I mean...”

 

“I got your meaning,” the older man said stiffly. He took off his hat and rubbed his hand through thinning hair, mumbling under his breath. Harlan only made out the word ‘mess’ but still nodded agreement as Singer met his gaze again. “So where are the boys now?” The officer flipped open the file to the case worker’s notes and read silently for a second then replied.

 

“Um...according to the file John Winchester had made arrangements for the boys to be taken by the, uh, Angel Program if anything happened to him and his wife. Someone named, uh, Brother Zachariah showed up with the paperwork and took the children back with him. Child Services said that everything was in order,” he said, the troubled feeling growing. In his experience these kinds of things took time, and with the Winchester boys they had been removed to new custody in a little over a day. Singer’s reaction was to slump even further down in his chair, palming his face in despair.

 

“Balls...so they took them? Both of them?”

 

“Yes,” Harlan replied, feeling alarmed as he took in the other man’s pallor. “Mr. Singer, is something wrong?”

 

“Other than everything?” the gruff man answered back sharply, then waved an apology. “I’m sorry, son, this isn’t about you, it’s those...see, my wife and I were supposed to be named guardians for those boys and despite whatever fancy lawyers or paperwork might have been bandied about I know that John and Mary wanted the boys to be with us. I’m just not sure we have the money we’ll need to fight this.”

 

“Oh,” Harlan replied, still feeling rather helpless in the face of all that information. Bobby sketched a wan grin at the officer’s expression, rising to his feet with a grunt.

 

“I’ll get out of your hair for now, looks like I got plenty of calls to make.”

 

“Sure. But...Mr. Singer, if there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I...what happened to the Winchesters, it’s been weighing on me some, and I’d like to help if I can.”

 

Bobby Singer palmed the business card that the officer gave him, shook his hand again and left. Harlan strongly suspected he’d never hear from the man again, but he vowed to keep his ears open for news about the people who had taken the Winchester boys. It seemed the least he could do.


	4. Chapter 4

_Journal entry by Dean Winchester, decoded_

 

2/23/90

 

Dear Sammy,

 

Guess what? I got me a new power. You’re the only one I’m telling, so keep it to yourself. I know the mantra around here is “TELL SOMEONE BLAH BLAH BLAH” but I was right, we can’t trust most of them. The good news about my new freak power is I think I can use it to maybe tell who we can trust.

 

Sister Josephine, that shrink you keep crushing on? I was talking to her when my powers kicked in. She likes you, dude. When I talk about you she gets a little happy, which is nice because the rest of the time she is depressed as shit. But it was kind of relief because I’m pretty sure she’s good. She doesn’t feel like the others.

 

Yep, I can feel other people’s feelings. I gotta be honest, it sucks out loud. Because most of the dicks around here? What they feel about us, it makes me want to barf, like a lot. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s not a good feeling. It’s like...they feel greedy when they look at us. It’s like we’re some kind of all you can eat buffet of freak kids.

 

So as far as these bastards are concerned, all I can do is move stuff with my mind. Got it?

 

Dean

 

P.S. I still think Brother Castiel is okay, too. He came to talk to me after my session, and I get a lot of sad and worried from him, kind of like your girlfriend the shrink. Not sure if he’s worried about us or something else.

 

P.S.S. Can’t wait till you finish learning this code, dude, it’s pretty boring writing to myself.</i>

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

_Journal entry by Sam Winchester, decoded_

 

3/15/90

 

Dear Dean,

 

This code is hard. I miss Mom and Dad. The fire was not your fault and you were great. You are a superhero even if you can be a jerk.

I think I can read minds, Dean. Should I tell?

 

Love, Sammy

 

P.S. Sister Josephine is nice. Her real name is Jody Mills. Her husband and son are dead. She thinks about them a lot. I know there is more but I had to stop because it hurt my head.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

_Journal entry by Dean Winchester, decoded_

 

3/16/90

 

Dear Sammy,

 

I say tell them. Maybe they can help train you so your head won’t hurt when you use it, and if they don’t think you have any powers they’ll probably try to send you away.

 

Dean

 

P.S. Don’t worry cause I’d never let them do that.

 

P.P.S. Don’t push it so you hurt yourself, I mean it.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

November 5, 1991- The Angel Program Special Kids Facility

 

Dean resisted the urge to hold his brother’s hand as Sister Hannah led them into Brother Zachariah’s office. His brother wouldn’t want to be treated like a baby, but the small tremors he could feel was too much for him to bear; he settled for a manly arm around the shoulders and hip bump. His brother pressed back against him and Dean felt a more intense flare of upset from the boy.

 

“It’s all good, Sammy, just take it easy,” Dean murmured, and his brother shook his head slightly.

 

“I got us in trouble, I’ve been asking too many questions, I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, his breath hitching faster. Dean stopped and turned his brother to face him, squeezing the back of his neck tight.

 

“Cut it out with the panicking, dude. We don’t know what this is about, right? We don’t even know it’s bad. So chill.” Sam took a shaky deeper breath and nodded, and Dean let him go. They had to hurry to catch up to Brother Zachariah’s assistant but she didn’t seem to notice the drama behind her. Both boys tried to stealthily look around the Paragon offices, neither of them had ever been past the infirmary in this part of the facility. Dean didn’t know what he had been expecting, but what they saw didn’t say ‘charitable teaching organization’ so much as ‘high end office complex meets mad scientist’s laboratory.’

 

“This is weird,” Sam breathed and Dean bumped his shoulder in agreement and warning as Sister Hannah knocked on a heavy wooden door, a polished golden plate proclaiming Brother Zachariah’s name. They heard a muffled voice from inside respond, and the door swung open. The round face and insincere smile of Brother Zachariah looked down on them for the first time since they had arrived as he ushered them into his office.

 

“Come in, come in. Well, Dean and Samuel Winchester! I trust you boys are doing well, you look much better than when I last saw you too. And I understand you, Samuel, can read minds now? Isn’t that wonderful!” He sat imperiously behind a massive desk while the boys fidgeted uncertainly. Sister Hannah softly shut the door behind them and the smile fell from the older man’s face as if it had never been there. “Please take a seat, boys,” he said in a more serious tone, and with a glance at each other the boys complied. Brother Zachariah leaned across the desk and regarded them like they were interesting lab specimens, which Dean supposed they were to someone like him. The only emotion he was getting from him was a weird feeling of pleasure and anticipation that didn’t make the older Winchester feel any better about this situation. Brother Zachariah smiled darkly. “Can you read _my_ mind, Samuel?”

 

“Sir?” Sam looked startled and Dean felt his brother’s fear flare up again. “I wouldn’t...I wasn’t...” The smarmy Paragon chuckled at the boy.

 

“You misunderstand me, Sam. I’m asking you to try.” At the boy’s uncertain look, he spread his arms wide with an empty grin. “Go on. You have my permission. In fact I insist.”

 

Dean watched as his brother steadied himself, then locked eyes with the other man. Sam’s face went a sickly white as he gasped then made a wounded cry that Dean never wanted to hear again. He stood and grabbed his brother’s head in alarm, trying to figure out how he was hurt. He felt sick as he felt Brother Zachariah’s warped satisfaction wash over him, along with his brother’s shock.

 

“Sammy? Sammy, talk to me,” Dean coaxed, then whirled on the smug man who he knew had somehow injured his brother. “What did you do to him?” Brother Zachariah raised an eyebrow, but it was Sam who responded.

 

“It’s okay, Dean. I’m okay.” Sam took a shuddering breath, settling himself. “He didn’t...he just showed me...Aunt Karen is dead.” Tears formed in the boys eyes but didn’t fall as he continued, “She...it was an accident. With the car. Uncle Bobby was...he wasn’t hurt. They thought he might have been drunk when he was driving.”

 

“Bobby Singer is not being charged, by the way. We took the liberty of intervening with the authorities on your uncle’s behalf. Such a tragedy, I am so sorry for your loss,” the other man intoned with false sympathy. Dean bit off the reply that he wanted to make, taking a moment to gain his composure and fight against the feelings swirling in the room as well as his own.

 

“We can see that,” he finally gritted out. Brother Zachariah’s pen container rattled as Dean continued his battle for control, but nothing went flying and eventually he was able to draw in a calming breath. As the charged atmosphere stilled, the Paragon smiled with genuine pleasure.

 

“Well done, Dean, you’re gaining more and more control over your Gift. And well done to you as well, Samuel, I’m not at all easy to read I’ve been told.” He stood, and the brothers let him hurry them to the door with no fuss. “That’s all the time I have today, boys, but let me just say I’ve been very impressed and I cannot wait to see you two mature.” Sister Hannah met the boys and ushered them back to the common room, where Sam managed to wait until she left before breaking down with a cry of his brother’s name. Dean drew him in and held him as he sobbed.

 

“I know, buddy, I know,” he said, his brother’s grief mingling with his own too much to keep his own tears from falling. “They got to Uncle Bobby, he’s not going to be able to help us now. It’s just you and me, Sammy, just you and me.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

_Journal entry by Sam Winchester, decoded_

 

4/5/93

Dear Dean,

I asked Sister Hael about what happens to other special kids, the ones who aren’t in the Angel Program and I was able to read her. She’s the third one I asked and they all had the same thought, the Angel Program is where all the special kids are. That’s why Mom and Dad were always so spooked about your powers, about anyone finding out. I think they knew, Mom and Dad, maybe even Uncle Bobby, about the Angel Program, but they thought they could keep you safe if they could make them think you were a Norm.

So none of that was on you, jerk.

Love, Sam

P.S. Sister Hael’s real name is Grace Beaumont. She has a crush on Brother Castiel, which is kind of gross. She doesn’t like me because I ask questions, for some reason she thinks I shouldn’t be doing that, which maybe she’s right because no one else does. But she’s not plotting my death or anything so don’t fly off the handle.

P.S.S. Besides if she gets super mean to me or something, I’ll just sic Andy on her. He hasn’t turned in one assignment yet and I don’t think she’s noticed. Pretty sure she hasn’t even noticed he’s in the class.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Journal entry by Dean Winchester, decoded_

 

4/6/93

Dear Sammy,

Bitch.

You might be right. But they got us in the end, so I must have screwed it up somewhere. It doesn’t matter now so I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

Dean

P.S. Cas should totally take that action. Sister Hael is hot as Hael. Get it? That being said, you better tell me if she messes with you. I mean it, Sammy.

P.S.S. Andy’s power totally rocks. Think he can work his mojo on Brother Bartholomew for me? Dude’s riding my ass.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Journal entry by Dean Winchester, decoded_

 

12/23/94

Dear Sammy,

I’m gonna kick your ass, Sammy! Were you screwing around in my dream last night? And when were you going to tell me you could do that you little bitch?

Dean

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Journal entry by Sam Winchester, decoded_

 

12/24/94

Dear Dean,

I wasn’t sure until you asked me if I actually did it. I guess I have a new power. Not sure how helpful this one is, it’s kind of weird and not as much fun as you’d think. Maybe if I practice I can get it so no one knows I’m there, then it might be something we can use.

Love, Sam

P.S. Your dreams are gonna give me nightmares. I can’t unsee that. Jerk.

P.S.S. Merry Christmas! Hopefully they’ll let us spend some time together tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 19, 1995 – The Angel Program Special Kids Facility

“Is this seat taken?”

Dean’s jaw dropped in surprise as the young redhead plopped down her tray across from his and sat with a toss of her long hair. Once he’d discovered his empathic ability, he’d realized the best way to hide it was to pretend that he didn’t care about anyone or anything (other than Sam, but he’d already set the precedent for that.) As a result, he had a pretty clear reputation around the facility as, well, an asshole. No one had approached his table at lunch in years other than the occasional girl who found his bad boy rep alluring. He gave her a quick once over; she was a kind of casual pretty. Dean automatically flashed the girl a charming grin, which faltered as she rolled her eyes.

“Oh please, as if,” she snorted as she seated herself across from him. “I know you think you’re God’s gift to women, Dean Winchester, but newsflash: I am.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she extended a hand in greeting. “Charlie Bradbury, new girl. In case you hadn’t heard.”

“New girl,” he repeated as he took her hand, noting her firm grip. “Don’t often get newbies that are so...mature.” She made that unladylike snorting sound again.

“I’m sure. This place likes to start the brainwashing young,” she noted bitterly. “Most of the kids I’ve met have totally drunk the Kool-aid.” She shook her head absently as she scanned the room before fixing her gaze on him. “But not you. Or your brother from what I hear. That’s why we’re gonna be best friends.”

“You think we’re gonna be friends?” Dean challenged.

“Yep,” Charlie said smugly taking a bite from her sandwich. “See, you’re going to give me the lowdown on this place, and I’m gonna let you in on what’s been happening in the outside world.”

“Like what?”

“Nuh-uh. You first, dude. Angel Program 101, Unabridged Edition.”

“Sure. Okay, what’s up with the A.P.? Well, most everybody here is somebody’s castoff, plus some hospital kids and their siblings. Sammy found out they don’t take anyone under four, we’re not sure why. They put you in quarantine?”

“Um, here. What? Quarantine? What?”

“Okay, right, they didn’t do that because you already had a gift,” Dean stated flatly, it wasn’t a question. “That’s how they refer to powers. You’ve got a power?” Charlie nodded, her brow still furrowed in confusion. She continued chewing and her next response came directly into Dean’s head.

_("You mean the mind talking and the technowhatzit. Yeah, it’s how Mom and I were avoiding these goons.")_ After he stared at her for a second, she added, “Oh, you have to talk, I’m just a sender, can’t pick up people’s thoughts back. My mom said it’s because I’m a talker not a listener.”

“Gotcha. Sam’s the opposite. He’s a catcher, you’re a pitcher, so as long as you only want one side of a conversation…” He turned his attention to his lunch for a second before adding softly, “So they know you can do that, right?”

“Yes,” Charlie said aloud and grumpily. “I was one of those hospital kids. Long story short, these people apparently offered to cure me, but only if my mom would give me up. She signed the contract but once I was healthy we ran. We managed for years to keep ahead of them. Until I screwed up. They sent a bunch of cattle into the road, no gadgets in cows for me to mess with and that made us have an accident and my mom was hurt and I guess I...I screamed into their minds some. And I might have blown all the transformers nearby.” That last bit was mumbled around another bite of sandwich. Dean nodded, understanding.

“That was the techno-techno-“

“Technowhatzit,” she finished helpfully. “I think they’re calling it technopathy here. Get me near gizmos and I can crack them with my brain. Neat, right?”

“Totally,” Dean answered sincerely, returning her grin. They directed their attention to their lunches as a guard strolled by. Dean was surprised at the easy camaraderie he felt with this newcomer. He tentatively reached out and found nothing in her emotions that would lead him to think she wasn’t sincere about wanting to be his friend. He was therefore surprised when she suddenly poked him in the chest. Hard.

“Hey, you haven’t finished the lowdown.”

“You’re the one who started showing off,” Dean grumbled. “So. Where was I...Quarantine. Quarantine’s where they send most kids to start. Sam and I didn’t go but our guess is they monitor you, run lots of tests, ask lots of questions and try to figure out if you’re ‘special.’ Most kids aren’t, so after six months they move the Norms out to the ‘official’ Angel Program. The rest come here.

“Norms? That’s what they call them?”

“Nah, that’s what we call them,” Dean shrugged. “Sam says the Paragons call them Nulls. Whatever, tomato, potato. They do their time and then go do whatever Norms do, I guess. They call us ‘Special Kids’ and we get hidden back here in superhero school. They classify us by number of gifts, they’re kind of obsessed with that. Like right now you’re a Two.” His lunchmate nodded absently as she absorbed this news. “There’s maybe a couple hundred of us here. Mostly Ones, some Twos, only a handful of Threes. They watch us all, but they’re most interested in the Threes. Most of them get to be ‘mentored’ by one of the ‘Angels’ – also known as hot shot rich guys,” Dean sneered, poking his fork at something vaguely healthy looking on his plate. Most of the meals they were served were disgustingly well balanced.

“Yeah, there was something about that on the Web, without the superpowers bit. They call the kids that get mentored ‘Vessels,’ which is basically uber-creepy if you ask me,” she said with a shudder that Dean couldn’t help but echo. “So Three is the highest? No Fours or Fives?”

“Well...that’s the official story, but it might not be true. Sam picked up some thought chatter about some other kids they think of as Maxers. Not sure if that’s because they’re maxing out the number of gifts or because of what happened to Max Miller.”

“What happened to him?”

“Officially? He was a Three who became a Vessel. According to Sam, Max Miller had more than three powers and he couldn’t handle it. He went insane and killed his sponsor because his brain short circuited. It all happened before we got here, but we think he’s the reason for all the signs everywhere,” Dean stated gesturing to the sign on the wall near their table that stated in simple block letters “TELL SOMEONE ABOUT YOUR NEW GIFT”

“So the Threes all win the grand prize. What happens to the Twos like me and...” She gestured at him questioningly.

“Me? I’m just a One, but I’m awesome,” Dean chuckled, and Charlie frowned at him.

_(”That’s the first time you’ve lied to me, Dean,”)_ Charlie’s voice in his head said solemnly. Then she winked. _("But I’m gonna let it go because I get that if you’re keeping a secret it’s probably not the best idea ever to discuss it in the lunch room.”)_ She gave him a ‘go on’ gesture and Dean couldn’t help but like this girl.

“Right, well near as I can tell they let some of them out into society, some join the security forces,” he gestured towards a tall young black man standing at the wall. “Like Jake there, he was one of us till Brother Uriel recruited him right before he turned eighteen. Dude’s gift is kind of lame, he’s just super strong, not like we’re not all stronger than Norms. He’s also an supreme asshole but Sam says that’s not a gift.”

“So what you’re telling me is you’re not a fan?” Charlie drily asked.

“He picked on Sam,” Dean shrugged. “So I had to TK him into a hot stove, but hey, no hard feelings, right Jake?” Dean raised his voice and waved, the other man returning a scowl. “He’s got some extra super healing mojo too, so it wasn’t as bad as it sounds.”

“Still, he’s a dick,” Charlie mused. “You and your brother are pretty close, then?”

“As close as they’ll let us be. They keep us apart, say it’s ‘detrimental’ for us to spend too much time together. We manage, though.” He pointed out a petite blonde girl wearing the traditional Paragon robes. “That girl there, I never knew her but I hear she was a special kid before. So apparently some of us are asked to become Paragons, too,” he sighed, then added softly, “At least I hope they ask.” The two new friends shuddered in unison. “So, how bout you share, what does the outside world think about us?

“Probably half of them don’t know the Angel Program exists at all,” Charlie informed him. “Not because they’re keeping it a secret, just because they don’t really care. Everyone that knows about it seems to think it’s a wonderful charity thing, they’ve let people see the normal kids and everyone thinks that’s all this is. I mean, they’re curing sick kids and helping disadvantaged youth, of course everyone thinks it’s brilliant.” Charlie gestured around her. “No one knows this place exists, or if they do they aren’t talking about it.”

“Well that sucks,” Dean summarized, not really surprised. “If they don’t know we’re here...”

“They aren’t going to help us,” Charlie sighed morosely. Feeling a wave of grief and melancholy from her, he put his hand on her arm in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, he was out of practice with acting nice to people other than Sam.

“I don’t want to upset you, but is your mom...?”

“She’s not dead. But she’s in a coma, When she wakes up, I know she’ll find me, but...she may never do that.” Charlie frowned at the robed brothers and sisters passing nearby. “These people did that to her, they just expect me to forget that?”

“Yes,” Dean answered simply. “Charlie, you have to keep your head down here. I worry about Sam all the time because he’s always asking questions, but he does this puppy eye thing and I guess he’s cute enough still to get away with it. If they think you’re not under their control, they will deal with you. If we’re gonna be friends, I need to know you’ll be okay.” Charlie bit her lip and nodded, and he felt her push the anger and sadness down for now.

“What do you mean, if?” she snorted in mock indignation. “We’re already best friends, Dean Winchester, and don’t you forget it!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Journal entry by Dean Winchester, decoded_

 

7/5/95

Dear Sammy,

We thought your dream thing was strange, you won’t guess what I can do now. Thank God when it happened Charlie was the only one there, because I’m definitely keeping this to just us, and Charlie won’t tell. So she and I were talking, and I started telling her that story about you and Andy and I’m saying what you said and then she’s staring at me like weird (weirder than normal for Charlie) and I look in the mirror and dude, I was you! I mean I was still me, but I looked like you, sounded like you.

Charlie said I’m like Mystique in the comic books, except not a hot chick. So then we decided to try to see if I could be a hot chick, and it turns out I can only be someone I know well, but I did manage to pull off a good Lydia Prince which got a little weird cause Charlie said I was even hotter than her. But then I tried to be Sister Rebecca and it wasn’t very good, because I don’t go to class enough to know her, according to Charlie. I tried just making someone up and that didn’t work at all, but maybe I can learn to do that someday. Still, kind of awesome, right? I mean, not as good as TK but better than that emotional bullshit.

I might have “the flu” for a few days while I work on getting this one under control, so don’t worry.

Dean

 


	6. Chapter 6

June 14, 1995 – The Angel Program Special Kids Facility

 

The door to the infirmary blew open and a second later a frantic Dean Winchester stormed through. Even the gifted security guards were startled, though they had all been expecting him. Without hesitation Dean stormed over to Sister Naomi.

 

“Where is he? Where’s Sam?”

 

“Calm down, Dean, I can assure you that Sam is fine. He’s just a little shaken up,” the dark-haired physician returned calmly.

 

“I need to see him. Now,” the teenager gritted out, and the chairs in the waiting area all slid forward a quarter inch, eliciting a few gasps. One of the security guards moved towards Dean but was stayed by Sister Naomi’s look in his direction.

 

“Of course, but I will ask you again to calm yourself, Dean. This isn’t helping your brother,” she intoned coolly, and after another fiery glare Dean’s eyes closed and he nodded. His shoulders dropped and the relief he felt from the doctor and guards made him feel a bit dizzy. He steeled himself for more strong emotions as he followed the Paragon doctor to one of the exam rooms. Then his brother was all he could see, Sam’s eyes large and wet, his pale skin emphasizing the bruise on his cheek. Dean’s hand cupped the younger boy’s neck as he gave him a quick once over, not seeing any other injuries.

 

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asked softly, and his brother nodded, but Dean could feel how upset and shocked his brother was and glared at the doctor. “What the hell happened?”

 

“Brother Zachariah will be here shortly to explain everything,” Sister Naomi said, and for the first time he felt nervousness from the usually cold-hearted doctor. Dismissing her as useless he turned back to his brother.

 

“Sammy, you can tell me,” he cajoled, and his brother grasped at his hand, the story spilling out immediately.

 

“It was Anselm. He tried to kill Andy and Tracy. I tried to stop him, Dean, but he was so strong and he was in my head and it hurt so much!” Sam whispered.

 

Dean didn’t doubt his brother but he was dumbfounded. Anselm was Andy’s half-brother but the two weren’t close like he was with Sam. Anselm and Andy had been generally kept from each other and encouraged not to bond from the moment they’d arrived at the A.P. Other than that he didn’t know much about Andy’s brother, he’d heard praise for his gifts but little about him personally. Anselm was a Three, he could influence thoughts like his brother, had telekinesis like Dean and could freeze things with touch.

 

He knew about Tracy, however, she was a shy One from Sam’s class whose gift was that she could consciously improve or worsen the moods of people around her. Relationships of any kind were discouraged at The A.P. and so Andy and Tracy were keeping their new budding romance quiet.

 

“Where is Anselm now?” Dean’s voice promised murder, but Sam just bleakly shook his head.

 

“He’s dead. One of the guards, I think. Or maybe it was me. Or maybe it was Andy. It was really hard to think,” Sam said thickly, and Dean saw the signs of his migraine in the squint of his eyes. His head whipped around to pin Sister Naomi with his gaze.

 

“He’s got a migraine, did you give him anything for that?” Before the doctor could answer, Brother Zachariah entered the room with Brother Castiel and Sister Hannah trailing behind.

 

“She will, but I asked her to wait until we had a chance to talk. I’ve just talked to Andrew and Tracy, and they are going to be just fine, aren’t they, Sister Naomi?”

 

“They’re okay?” Sam confirmed weakly, and Dean glowered realizing that they hadn’t even bothered to let his brother know that before.

 

“They’re fine, just unsettled, much like you, Samuel. What happened was very disturbing, and rest assured that we are going to get to the bottom of it. What happened with Anselm was unforeseen. Sister Josephine noted that Anselm was having difficulties adjusting to his life here but even she didn’t realize how unstable he was. It was a tragedy, but we’re just glad that everyone’s okay.”

 

“Anselm’s dead,” Sam said shortly, and Brother Zachariah’s smug smile faltered momentarily.

 

“Yes, of course. As I said, tragic,” he added dismissively. “The thing is, boys, outside of the people in this room, and Tracy and...and Andrew, no one really needs to know about this. I’ve spoken to the guards and they know not to say anything. I want both of you to give me your word that you’ll do the same.”

 

Dean and Sam looked at each other. They were under no illusions that if they did not agree they would not be leaving the infirmary this evening. Dean looked across at Brother Castiel, who was frowning at Brother Zachariah. Dean could feel his distress almost over Sam’s and his own. The dark-haired man met Dean’s gaze meaningfully for a moment before breaking eye contact and looking to the ground.

 

“Of course, Brother Zach,” Dean drawled back to Zachariah, and Sam echoed him softly, closing his eyes tight against the pain in his skull. Dean squeezed his brother’s hand in sympathy. “Think Sammy here can get hooked up on the good stuff now?”

 

The older man gave them a shark-like grin, benevolent with getting his way.

 

“Of course, of course, Sister Naomi, if you would be so kind?” As the doctor moved to start an I.V. for the younger Winchester, the bald Paragon muttered to his counterparts, being careful not to be overheard. “It’s a shame about those headaches the boy gets, not much market for a Vessel with that sort of issue. Still, he’s a powerful mind reader from all accounts, we might be able to get a good price in the overseas market.”

 

“He’s only just turned twelve, you can’t-” Brother Castiel growled hotly, cut off by both Sister Hannah’s hand on his arm and the older man’s glare.

 

“I don’t think you’re in a position to determine that, Brother Castiel. Remember what’s at stake,” Brother Zachariah hissed, then sighed. “But you’re right, he’s still very young, he might lose the headaches or get some more useful gifts before we had to decide.” They left the room without noticing how Sam had grown paler, his knuckles white in his angry brother’s grip.

 

That was the night they began to plan their escape.


	7. Chapter 7

October 10, 1996 – The Angel Program Special Kids Facility

 

The Paragon doctor calling himself Brother Castiel found Dean Winchester in his dorm room. The teenager was supposed to be in class, but anyone who knew Dean would not look for him there. The kitchens had been his first stop, then the gym. The object of his search was curled up on his bed, studiously writing something in a notebook that the scientist would be willing to bet had nothing to do with school.

 

“Dean,” he greeted, and the boy jumped, hastily putting the notebook under his pillow. It saddened him that Dean could not trust him with the thoughts he had just put down, but it was probably for the best.

 

“Seriously, Cas, I like you, but no more tests,” Dean groaned, seeing the needle in the doctor’s hand. “I’m like a pin cushion, dude.” Brother Castiel paused. He supposed he had been rather single-minded in his pursuit of his research lately; he tended to focus on his work and forget the human element. Sam Winchester had expressed a similar sentiment when he’d approached him after lunch, but had acquiesced with little complaint. Dean, he knew from experience, would need more persuading to be pliable.  


“I am sorry, I know it is unpleasant, but you and your brother are...different. The others are not like you and Sam, Dean. They don’t question. They don’t rebel.”

 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Cas,” Dean teased, but his expression was thoughtful and serious in a way that few at the Program other than Castiel probably knew he could be.

 

“I need to know what makes you different. If I could replicate that...if the others were like you...maybe...”

 

“Maybe what? Cas, what do you think would happen?” Dean asked, almost gentle. “Look, Sammy and I may not completely toe the line but in the end it’s not gonna make a difference. You know what we’ve been doing for the past few years, him and me? Looking for a way out of this place. You know what we’ve come up with?”

 

“Nothing. There is no escape,” Castiel said hollowly. Dean grinned but there was no amusement in it.

 

“Exactly. So we do what we do, but at the end of the day, whatever’s happening to these other poor schmucks? When I turn eighteen it’s gonna happen to me, and that’s only a few months away. If you think drawing more blood and doing more tests is gonna fix that, then I’m all yours. Otherwise, I thought I might shock Brother Bartholomew by showing up in class.” The dark-haired man frowned, confused.

 

“You are not in Brother Bartholomew’s class this term.”

 

“I know. Fifty bucks says he screams like a girl,” Dean grinned, then turned back just before leaving the room. “You know, Cas, it’s not really the kids here that need to question and rebel.”

 

Castiel sank slowly onto the bunk that Dean had just left. Dean was right, of course, but he couldn’t understand what he was asking. He reached under the boy’s pillow, fingering the dog-eared notebook but not opening it. The Winchesters were a puzzle and he needed to solve it; maybe if he could he would find his own strength to rebel as well.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

November 17, 1996 – The Angel Program Special Kids Facility

 

As they had for as long as they’d known each other, Sam sat with Andy Gallagher at lunch. The facility normally would move children they saw pairing up regularly, but thanks to Andy’s low key personality and his ability to influence the thoughts of others, no one seemed to notice or care that the two boys were fast friends and lunch partners. Andy told Sam it was because they couldn’t really see Andy most of the time, so they never recognized the pattern. Sam didn’t care how it happened, he was just glad he got to be with his friend.

 

Room assignments were a trickier thing. The dorms had six students to a room, co-ed for the younger kids and separated by gender around ten or eleven. The kids expected to change rooms and roommates once every couple of months. Sam had last had Andy as his roommate only four months ago, so he was overjoyed to see him listed on the latest roster assignment as his bunkmate. The smile on Andy’s face when he found him was anything but innocent.

 

“Andy, what did you do?” Sam asked softly as soon as they’d entered their room. There was a special kid who had extraordinary hearing but she was not assigned to their dorm; he was as certain as he could be that they wouldn’t be overheard. His friend’s grin widened smugly.

 

“Okay, you know Charlie Bradbury, your brother’s friend? She got this idea, and so we decided to take it for a spin. She and I wandered into the Paragon offices, and now it seems the computer’s got a little glitch that’ll pair us as bunkmates, like, every time. Charlie also assigned empty beds to our room but that’s only gonna be good till the next rotation. Still, for the next eight weeks it’s just you and me, dude.”

 

“They let Charlie near the computers?” Sam asked, awe and skepticism in his tone. Andy shrugged nonchalantly.

 

“Well, I told them it was okay. And then I told them to forget about it and Charlie futzed the video camera, so I think we’re cool. We’d probably know already if we weren’t.” One of the things that Sam loved about his friend was how he managed to bounce back from everything from his own brother going crazy and trying to kill him to his difficult breakup with Tracy. Sam did his best to listen to his friend and not invade his privacy. Andy’s mind was open to Sam like most others, but Sam found reading deep into people was kind of like entering a carnival fun house. It was like a rush of adrenaline, but also scary and dizzying, so he rarely did more than skim surface thoughts.

 

“This is amazing, Andy. Thank you, I’ll have to thank Charlie too if I can.”

 

“Hey, it’s good for me, too, dude. Plus I know you haven’t been sleeping so great lately, though a little extra quiet couldn’t hurt.” Dean and Sam had agreed that they could trust Charlie and Andy with the truth about their powers a while back. Still Sam was surprised Andy could tell he was having nightmares and not visiting other’s dreams. As if he’d asked the question, Andy added. “Dude, when you’re dream walking you’re totally zen, you don’t even move. Your last roommates were bitching to everyone that would listen how you were keeping them awake tossing and turning.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, sinking onto the lower bunk. “I’ve been having this nightmare about Dean. I think it’s because his birthday’s so close.”

 

“What do you think’s gonna happen?” Andy asked, concerned for both his friends. Sam rubbed at his forehead. He felt a tingle at the back of his skull and hoped it wasn’t another migraine. He could tell something was different.

 

“I don’t know, that’s the thing. Dean said he’s gonna try to get on with security, but they usually pick their own candidates. I just...I don’t...ahhh!” Sam cried out as a blinding flash made him close his eyes. It was like dreaming while he was awake; scenes played out almost faster than he could process them:

 

_**< FLASH:** Brother Zachariah is talking to Dean; his brother’s look wary and resigned. Brother Zachariah smiles at this brother, saying, “So what do you think Dean? I’ll be your Angel, you’ll be my Vessel?” Dean looks sick as he agrees._

_**FLASH:** His brother slouching in someone’s arms, somehow unable to use his powers. Zachariah towering over him, smiling. “Ah, Dean, you don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.”_

_**FLASH:** Dean barely conscious, hooked to some machine, his eyes pleading. Brother Zachariah hooked to the same machine, smiling, triumphant. He’s won and they both know it._

_**FLASH:** Brother Zachariah’s body slumps. Dead. Empty. Dean’s eyes open. He smiles, but it’s Zachariah’s twisted smile. His brother is gone. >_

 

Sam’s eyes shot open as he swallowed his scream with the bile that’s crept up his throat. Andy clasped his arm, as close to freaking out as Sam had ever seen him.

 

“Sam! Are you alright? Ah, God, no, you’re bleeding!” Sam felt his head tilted back as Andy smeared under his nose with a tissue; red wetness dampening the white paper. Sam struggled to focus, shoving down the overwhelming fear. “I need to get you to the infirmary,” he hears Andy say and he clutches his friend’s arm, shaking his head.

 

“No, no infirmary. Just Dean. Get Dean for me, Andy, please.”

 

“Alright, dude. Just, are you gonna be okay here alone? You’re not gonna have a seizure or, or vomit or something?” Despite the spike of pain in his head and the terror gripping his chest, Sam manages a pained smile.

 

“I promise, man. Dean’s...shit I don’t know where he is right now...” Sam groaned in frustration and pain.

 

“It’s okay, Sam, lie back, I’ll get him, Sam, it’s gonna be okay,” Andy soothed. After a moment he heard Andy’s footsteps moving away and Sam realized he’d closed his eyes again. He half-sobbed as he reclined against the bed, his legs still dangling off the end.

 

“It’s not gonna be okay,” he whispered to himself. He knew now that this was a new power, that the nightmares had had been having were somehow visions of the future. His brother was going to be gone, not just leaving him but completely gone, and an evil man would be wearing him like some kind of...suit.

 

They were running out of time.


	8. Chapter 8

November 19, 1996 – The Angel Program Special Kids Facility

 

Brother Castiel looked up in surprise as Dean Winchester unceremoniously barged into his office, a security guard at his heels. Quickly waving the guard away, letting him know it was alright, he frowned at the young man who was agitated enough that the researcher had a passing fear for the state of his lab.

 

“Dean? I wasn’t expecting you. I’m still working with the last samples.”

 

“Screw your samples, Cas. And screw you for acting like you care about me or Sam or any of the kids here. You know what happens to them.” Castiel fumbled with his research notes as an excuse to not look into that knowing, accusing gaze.

 

“I’m not sure...”

 

“The Vessels. They aren’t being mentored; they’re being fattened up for the slaughter. For when their benefactor decides they’d like to wear their spankin’ new super powered body.”

 

“Oh God...how...?”

 

“How is right? How can you do that, Cas? Don’t pretend you didn’t know, Sammy read you, Doctor Novak. Or would you rather I call you Jimmy?” As the Paragon doctor paled with realization, Dean continued unhappily, “Right, so don’t lie to me now.”

 

“I will not lie, Dean, not anymore.” He met the boy’s defiant gaze forcefully. “You trusted me enough to confront me with the truth. You trusted that I wouldn’t just go straight to Brother Zachariah and have you and your brother killed. Trust me enough to let me explain.”

 

“Must be one hell of an explanation.”

 

“Frankly, it’s not. There are no words to justify what I’ve done. But I can do one right thing, and that’s to help you get out of here before...”

 

“Before Brother Zachariah plays body snatcher with me? Yeah, we got that memo too,” Dean snorted bitterly. Castiel put his hands on the teenager’s shoulders.

 

“I won’t let it happen, Dean.”

 

“You think you can stop it?” Dean snorted, but Castiel could see how desperate he was to believe it.

 

“I think we can stop it. I know we must try.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

January 3, 1997 – The Angel Program Special Kids Facility

 

“Dean, might I have a word?” At the sound of the unctuous Paragon, Dean froze and waved Charlie on towards their other classmates. The redhead looked doubtful but trailed away. He turned back to the other man with a sunny fake smile.

 

“’Course, Brother Zach. I imagine you can have as many words as you want. Head honcho and all.”

 

“Ah, yes, you are the droll one,” Brother Zachariah responded blandly, but Dean could see him gritting his teeth just a little and mentally pencilled in a point. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I was wondering if you’d been giving any thought to your future. Your time in our little program is almost up, isn’t it...let’s see, your eighteenth birthday would be...” Dean schooled his expression carefully; he knew the sonavabitch knew exactly when his birthday was.

 

“Three weeks.”

 

Brother Zachariah’s eyebrows rose in mock surprise.

 

“So soon. So I’m assuming you’ve made some plans.”

 

“I’m waiting to hear back from security,” Dean said noncommittally, not adding that he was sure Brother Uriel was stalling. “But if that’s not in the cards, I’m sure I can go stay with Bobby Singer. Sure he’s had it rough since Aunt Karen died, but he won’t turn me away. He’ll keep me outta trouble. I figure that’s what you do with most of the folks like me, the ones without a lot of mojo.” Dean gave his practiced innocent look, but he knew he wasn’t as good at the puppy eyes as his brother.

 

“Hmmm,” Brother Zachariah hummed noncommittally. “Well, I have another option I’d like you to consider. As you may or may not know, some of the elite members of the Order of Paragons also can mentor students following their time here. I’ve been watching you, Dean, for a long time. I think you have untapped potential and I’d like to be your mentor. So what do you think Dean? I’ll be your Angel, you’ll be my Vessel?” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I bet your brother would love getting to keep you around, am I right?”

 

Anger flashed through Dean at the blatant manipulation, and nausea at the confirmation of his brother’s vision, but Dean hid his true thoughts behind an insincere grin.

 

“What can I say? Sounds like a match made in heaven.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

_Journal entry by Dean Winchester, decoded_

 

January 3, 1997

 

Dear Sammy,

 

Damn but it happened just like you said it would. Zachariah wants wear me and my powers like a meat suit. I told him I’d need a little time to think about it but I was definitely interested, but we need to move up Operation ‘Escape from Alcatraz.’ I’m headed for bed, you know what to do.

 

Dean

 

P.S. It’s my plan and that’s the name, so shut it.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

January 4, 1997 – Inside Dean’s Dream

 

Dreams were both the best and worst places to plan things. Best, because no one else at the Program had Sam’s dream walking gift and so they had zero chance of being overheard and could talk things through completely, working through every possible scenario they could think of. Worst because while Sam had conscious control of his dream self, they were still at the mercy of Dean’s subconscious, which meant that they both had to learn to ignore random things that popped into the dream like naked girls (harder for Dean) and purple llamas (harder for Sam, because _why llamas, Dean? And why purple?_ )

 

“You’re sure that Brother Castiel can be trusted? He’s been part of it all from the beginning,” Sam challenged. He liked Castiel, but he’d felt sick when he’d read the man and knew how deeply he was truly involved in what was happening. Even though Sam knew Castiel’s reasons, he couldn’t help but be wary of what might happen if the man had to choose between Dean and his own interests.

 

“If we can help him get his daughter out he will turn himself in and tell everything, Sam, he promised me and I believe him. Okay?” Dean said in his best big brother ‘end of discussion ‘ voice. At his brother’s reluctant nod, he continued, “Cas gave me what Charlie is gonna need for her part, but you’re gonna have to get into Brother Zachariah’s office while I go off hunting. Cas thinks he knows where we need to go but it’s restricted access, alarms and guards and I’m gonna need Charlie’s help. That means she can’t be with you at Zach’s computer. You and Andy up for that?”

 

“Yeah, I think so, but...we have to be sure, Dean. If everything doesn’t go right…” Sam trailed off, and Dean observed how stricken his brother looked.

 

“It’ll be okay, Sammy. I promise you, this is gonna work.”

 

“But what if it doesn’t? You don’t understand, Dean, I saw it. If we mess up, you’ll be gone.”

 

Both boys felt ill at the thought, but Dean rallied.

 

“Hey. Hey, Sammy. Look at me. It won’t happen. Cas will come through for us and we’ll all get out together. You, me, Andy, Charlie, Claire and Cas.”

 

“And Doc Jody.”

 

“Whoa, hang on, man, since when is Sister Josephine part of the Scooby Gang?”

 

“We have to help her too,” Sam mulishly asserted. “They’re blackmailing her just like Cas, and she doesn’t even know about the Vessel thing.”

 

“How are they blackmailing the doc?”

 

“Her husband was a reporter, he found out the truth and was set to expose the Angel Program when they killed him. They killed her son, Owen, just to make sure she knew they were serious but they’re holding her daughter Annie and she’s still alive. That’s how they forced Doc Jody to become a Paragon.”

 

“She told you all this?”

 

“Most of it I read from her, but she confirmed it’s all true. Dean, I think Annie is being kept with Claire Novak, I think some others. I think I saw it, Dean. One of my visions was of Charlie and Andy and me and Doc Jody with some kids I don’t know, but...but I didn’t see you or Cas,” he added shamefaced. Dean gave his brother a quick one-armed hug.

 

“Hey, you did good little brother. You can’t control these visions, right? It ain’t like the dream walking.”

 

“I know, but I won’t be able to help you.”

 

“I won’t get caught, Sammy. And Cas will be with me. We’re all getting out of here, and then we’re gonna bring this whole damned crazy conspiracy to an end.”

 

“How?”

 

“Cas’ needles, Charlie’s technowhatzit, a little acting from you, some of Andy’s mojo and a whole lot of my general awesomeness, bitch.” The familiar taunt had the desired effect as Sam rolled his eyes, trying not to smile.

 

“Whatever. Jerk.”


	9. Chapter 9

January 5, 1997 – The Angel Program Special Kids Facility

 

Any hopes that Sister Naomi might have had for a calm and quiet first week of the new year were shattered when the first vomiting child showed up at her door. That was at nine in the morning; by ten every bed in the infirmary was filled and half of them were occupied by security guards. Brother Nathaniel grimaced as he lifted a bucket that was already full from the moaning patients surrounding them.

 

“What do you think this is, Sister?”

 

“Food poisoning would be my best guess. I don’t know a virus that could spread this fast, and most everyone here ate breakfast at first shift this morning.” She sighed. “That probably means more are coming in, and the beds here are all full. I’m gonna need gurneys in the hallways, and more buckets.”

 

“Sister Naomi?” a pathetic voice spoke from behind her, one that she knew all too well, and it was only her professional manner that kept her from groaning. This was the last thing she needed right now.

 

“Sam Winchester. Another migraine?” she huffed as she turned to him. It wasn’t a guess. While the child looked as nauseous as her other patients, the pain-filled squinted eyes were a dead giveaway. “This is a bad time right now, Sam, as you can see. I’ll give you your meds, but you’ll have to go back to the dorm to sleep it off.”

 

“He can’t do that, Sister,” said the young man who she hadn’t noticed before, the one who appeared to be holding her patient steady. He looked familiar but she couldn’t quite place the name. Adam...Randy...no, but it was on the tip of her tongue. She didn’t have time for these games, she thought as she frowned at the boy.

 

“He has to, young man,” she severely affirmed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we’re in something of a crisis this morning.”

 

“But he needs peace and quiet to rest, Sister. The dorms are too bright and noisy, he’ll get worse.” The doctor sighed, she hadn’t thought of that but this boy...Allen was right, of course, but she didn’t have another solution to offer. Arrival of another groaning guard briefly distracted her, but once the man was lying on a gurney with his own basin clutched in his arms, she felt a tug at her elbow.

 

“Maybe he can just rest in one of the offices no one’s using,” Sam’s friend Sandy offered guilelessly. Sister Naomi nodded at the solution. Of course, there was probably some rule against that, but if someone got mad they could complain about it later. “Fine, let me just get you an escort.” Her eyes scanned the chaos of her infirmary for anyone not helping or sick, but the boy tugged at her once more.

 

“I can take him, I know the way,” Ashley offered, and she sighed with relief. Sam’s young friend really was a Godsend today.

 

“Fine, go, just do not disturb any of the work of the Paragons,” she admonished gruffly. As the two boys moved away, she nodded to herself. More of these children should be helpful like that boy...Riley. Yes, that was it.

 

It wouldn’t be until much later that she’d realize she had never given Sam Winchester any medication.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“You know what to do?” Dean asked Charlie softly as they crouched out of camera view. Charlie nodded.

 

“Kill the alarm. Go to the rendezvous spot. Walk the boys through the computer stuff.”

 

“Exactly, and then you wait,” Dean added sternly. “You don’t leave that spot, you don’t come looking for me, no matter what. Got it?” His friend gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek, followed by a sloppier salute.

 

“Aye, aye, Captain,” she said, and he cupped her cheek.

 

“Hey, Red, thanks for making me be your best friend,” Dean called to her, and Charlie mock glared at him, tears glittering.

 

“Shut up, Dean Winchester, I’ll kick your ass if you make me cry,” she protested, and Dean flashed her a quick grin, getting back to business with a deep breath. “Okay, on my mark...kill it.”

 

Charlie’s nose scrunched up as she reached her senses out to the nearby technology. Over the year she’d perfected her mindless drone impersonation, enough that the Paragons had eventually gotten lax about letting her around their electronics. Today was the day that particular chicken was coming home to Mama. Dean was looking at her strangely, and she blushed as she realized she’d projected that thought into his head accidentally. Wishing him a silent good luck, she backed away as he slipped through the door.

 

Neither of them saw Brother Zachariah emerge from his hiding place. He smiled to himself, he had been waiting for years for Winchester to make his move, to reveal all his co-conspirators. He couldn’t wait to let the boy know that Brother Castiel had come to him, revealed the boy’s plan to escape with the Bradbury girl’s help. He’d get security to grab the girl after he had the Winchester boy in hand; no point in tipping his hand and letting Winchester escape. Sister Hester in tech support was looking a little long in the tooth, maybe he’d offer the girl to her as a reward for the extra work she’d done encrypting his files. Any attempt to tamper with or copy files from his computer now would cause them to automatically be deleted; a fact only the two of them knew.

 

He would make sure Dean knew all of this before he took over his Vessel. He wanted to see the defeat, to read the failure in those eyes before they became his own.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Okay, so what do we do?” Sam asked aloud, and Andy shrugged.

 

“She gave us a disk, don’t we just put it in the computer and it does the rest?”

 

< _“That should do it,”_ > Charlie’s voice sounded in their heads, making them both jump. Andy looked over his shoulder. < _“I’m not there, morons, I’m listening to you over the bugs Zachariah had in his office, paranoid freak.”_ >

 

“Cool, ‘paranoid freak’ works for us for once,” Andy grinned. Sam nodded and took a deep breath, inserting the floppy disk into the drive.

 

“Here goes nothing,” he breathed. The cursor on the screen blinked at him for a moment, then suddenly words and symbols began scrolling up the screen faster than he could keep track of them. “I think it’s working.”

 

“Of course it’s working, Charlie’s awesome,” Andy said loyally, punching his friend in the shoulder. Sam stared at the screen, willing the program to work quickly.

 

< _“Aw, flatterer,”_ > Charlie purred in her friend’s head. Sam’s gasp got their attention.

 

“Something’s wrong. Charlie, it’s deleting files.”

 

< _“What? Crap. I need to...dammit, I need to see what you’re seeing.”_ >

 

Andy grabbed Sam’s arm, his expression scared but determined.

 

“Me. Use me. Charlie, when you send to me, try to project your power too. Sam, you reach in and grab it from me.”

 

“We can’t do that, Andy,” Sam protested. “We can’t combine our powers, and even if we could what’ll that do to you?”

 

“I think we can. I’ll be fine, Sam.” Seeing Sam’s worried gaze, Andy shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, we’re running out of time and we’ve got to at least try. I could push you to do this, Sam, but you’re my friend and I won’t. Just, please. If we don’t do this now...”

 

< _“I...I don’t...Andy’s right, Sam, we don’t have any other options.”_ > Charlie agreed, sounding as nervous as Sam felt. He took a deep breath and blew it out as he gave in.

 

“Okay, okay. Charlie, you ready?”

 

< _“Um...very much no, but here goes nothing.”_ >

 

Sam let his mind breach Andy’s, reaching through the familiar Andy-ness of his surface thoughts looking for something that was more...Charlie. When he thought he’d found what he was looking for, he _pulled_ and _held_. Next thing he knew his fingers were flying over the keyboard like an extension of his mind, the bits of code he needed to find shone like a beacon. He could hear Andy and Charlie laughing and his head was spinning, dizzy as he pulled the disk out and immediately _broke_ the connection between the three of them. It didn’t hurt but he felt even more lightheaded as he pulled away from Andy both physically and mentally. He laid his head down on the desk, unable to move for a second.

 

“Whoa, head rush,” Andy moaned. “Did we get it done?”

 

“I think so. Charlie, you still with us?”

 

< _“I’m here. I might have fainted all over Sister Josephine for a second, but I’m okay. That was unreal.”_ >

 

Sam breathed a sigh of relief and gathered himself, picking up the disk from where he’d dropped it on the desk.

 

“Okay, take it easy. You wait with Doc Jody, we’ll meet you in a few. It’s up to Dean and Cas now.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, technical difficulties impeded my ability to get the remainder of the story posted until today. Here's the rest of the story...

Dean crouched in the trees nervously. This building was on the farthest edge of the compound, and so the one most likely to hold anything someone didn’t want found. Avoiding the guards hadn’t been easy, but a TK rustle of bushes on the opposite side had cleared him a usable path. With exaggerated caution he emerged and crept to the door, mentally feeling his way around the lock. While it would have been more satisfying to blast the door open, announcing his presence that way didn’t seem like the best way to go.

 

Hearing the click of the lock, he eased the door open and entered a room that was nearly pitch dark. He cursed aloud, feeling along the wall for a light switch of any kind as he berated himself aloud for not thinking to appropriate a flashlight. Suddenly the lights flared on and he staggered, sightless in the flood of light, hearing the sound of footsteps and the sound of someone slowly clapping. As his eyes adjusted, he saw Brother Zachariah standing before him. The room was cavernous, with gray industrial walls that were rigged with cameras and a large movie screen hung across the back wall like it was a theatre. There was a strange humming sound that echoed off the walls which initially made it difficult for Dean to pinpoint the source until his eyes fell on the machine with its chairs and wires. Dean blanched as he recognized it from his brother’s description of his vision. This was the device that had killed him. Or was going to kill him. Fuck, this whole thing was confusing.

 

“So nice of you to join us, Dean,” the villainous man purred. “It’s been so much fun watching you play your little prisoner escape game today, we’ve identified many holes in security that I have every intention of addressing with the staff, so you have my thanks for that. But I’m afraid it’s time to bring this charade to a close.” Brother Zachariah gestured towards a shadowy corner behind Dean. “Brother Castiel, if you would be so kind.”

 

The younger Paragon quickly moved towards Dean, not meeting his furious glare. The needle in his hand gleamed and Dean reared back, preparing to TK him into the wall.

 

“Uh-uh-uh, Dean, you don’t want to do that,” the bald man tutted in a sing-song voice, and the screen on the back wall suddenly lit up to show him his brother, huddled with Andy, Charlie and Jody and looking afraid. The security guards that held them were out of view, but their guns were more than evident. “That’s right, Cas alerted Talley and Wilson exactly where your friends would be. Fortunately for me they didn’t eat your poison breakfast this morning. I must say I’m sad to see Jody go,” he mused as if she was a co-worker taking a new position, “but she was never really a team player, you know? Didn’t ever get with the program. Hah, the Program, right?”

 

Dean made a strangled sound and stepped towards Zachariah but was stopped by Cas’ arm around his throat, the needle immediately plunging into his neck. The doctor grabbed Dean’s shoulders as he slumped, blinking slowly.

 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas said solemnly as Dean shook his head.

 

“Why?” Dean whispered, his tone and body language defeated.

 

“Because Cas understands, Dean. He’s responsible for everything we’ve accomplished here, and he should reap the rewards. All you can offer him is a prison cell, but what I can offer him is so much more. Now that we’ve proved to our backers what the Vessels he created can do. We’re going to be able to provide immortality in superhuman bodies to the gods of industry, of finance, the highest elite who can afford the very best. We have created God, and he is us,” Zachariah intoned with the passion of madness. He came up to Dean, leaning over him in triumph. “You are a good looking young man and I am so going to enjoy having your body. Ah, Dean, you don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.” Dean blinked up at him, despair suddenly giving way to a bright grin.

 

“Me, too,” he said as he reached forward, mentally straining in a way he hadn’t since the fire when he was ten. Crushing the machine wasn’t as bad as knocking down a wall and he had grown considerably in power since then. Brother Zachariah screeched in rage, then spoke into his radio.

 

“Talley, Wilson, kill them all. I repeat, kill them all now!”

 

“Yes, sir,” came a woman’s voice over the radio as Brother Zachariah felt himself lifted into the air. He screamed as the radio was ripped from his hand and as he sailed across the room. Cas put his hand on Dean’s arm.

 

“Dean, don’t.”

 

Dean gritted his teeth and shook his head.

 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, Cas.”

 

“No,” Cas agreed bitterly, “But now isn’t the time.”

 

“Fine,” Dean sighed. “But I hate that I’m not gonna be the one who gets to kill this sonavabitch you know.”

 

With that he knocked them man’s head almost gently against the wall, just enough impact to knock him unconscious for a few hours. Centering himself, Dean morphed his form into a duplicate of the hated Paragon, giving a quick turn.

 

“Well? Do I look like a rat bastard?”

 

“You do indeed. It’s fascinating, I wish I had another syringe so I could take a sample,” the rebelling Paragon confirmed with amusement. He picked up the radio that Zachariah had been holding, brushing it off and handing it to the disguised teenager.

 

“Talley, Wilson, report,” Dean barked into the com, getting back only static. He waited a beat, then added. “Status of prisoners, report!”

 

“The prisoners have all been dealt with,” was the response on the line, but Dean sagged in relief as the voice was Charlie Bradbury’s. “The packages have also been picked up and are waiting for you, sir.”

 

“Excellent work,” Dean intoned, shivering at the sound of the Paragon’s voice coming from his own mouth. “Meet us in ten.”

 

“Did that mean what I hope it meant?” Cas breathed, and Dean grinned at him.

 

“They’ve got them. Let’s get out of here before this asshole is missed, we have one more thing to do before we blow this joint.”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

January 24, 1997 – Lawrence, Kansas

 

Harlan Brass sat up in bed, the dream he had just awakened from leaving him confused and somewhat out of sorts. In the years since that fire, his thoughts had occasionally strayed to the fate of those two boys, but time and work and his growing family had distracted him enough that he had mostly forgotten. Then tonight the younger Winchester boy had shown up in his dream, only in his dream he had become a gangly teenager. Probably what the boy was now, Harlan mused. The kid in his dream had made hellish claims about the Angel Program, given location coordinates in latitude and longitude and some weird letter combination that he said was a website address where other information was kept. The officer knew next to nothing about the internet, he couldn’t fathom why he would dream about that nonsense. Still, his first impulse upon waking was to scratch down the strange numbers and letters on the notepad he kept by the bedside phone.

 

“Daddy?” came a high pitched voice, and his older daughter Maureen wandered into the room, rubbing her bright blue eyes. He gathered her to him in a hug.

 

“What’s the matter, baby, you had a bad dream?” The little girl shook her head, frowning.

 

“No, daddy, but I saw a boy, and his name was Sam, and he was sad because the bad men had hurt him.”

 

Harlan froze, his heart in his throat.

 

“A boy named Sam?”

 

His daughter nodded, yawning.

 

“Sam Winchester, daddy. Can we help him?”


	11. Chapter 11

May 31, 1997 – Sioux Falls, South Dakota

 

“Sam sent that dream to everyone who was asleep for a hundred miles around, I’m told. It scared the crap out of people, but it got the word out. Maybe a week later, Dr Novak’s confession and all the information with it arrived at the Times, about the same time he turned himself in, and well, here we all are.”

 

“And...that’s it?” Henriksen asks when it’s clear that the junkyard owner is done talking. “That’s everything?”

 

“Pretty much. I mean, I can guess some more of it. Pretty sure that Brother Zachariah started the fire that killed John and Mary Winchester. Don’t have any proof of that, but if you check the logs I think you’ll find a couple of those kids were fire starters, could have done it easy. I think the Winchesters were just a loose end for him. Dean and Sam escaping the way they did, probably just a bonus. Except for the part when they brought him down, of course.” Singer shrugs as the dog barks softly. He reaches down to scratch its mangy head as he adds. “Settle down there, Jinxie. That’s just speculation, though, of course. No one knows that for sure.”

 

“How did they get the prisoners free, do you suppose?” Henriksen offers mildly. Singer leans back, pondering the question.

 

“Annie Mills said in interviews she was being held in a secret subbasement, only the head honcho and a few of his trusted minions even knew about it. Apparently the building blueprints and admittance codes were what those boys were getting from that monster’s computer. She said the guards let ‘em walk them right out, accepted a blank piece of paper as Brother Zachariah’s authorization,” Singer chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “I expect that was Andy Gallagher’s doing.”

 

“Gallagher and Bradbury, they were on the list of those missing after the riot,” Reidy states boldly, and they watch the man stiffen in surprise and probably anger. “Sam and Dean, they were responsible for that riot?”

 

“Don’t your own people say they believed the boys were long gone when that happened?” the man responds caustically, and Reidy visibly backs down. The dog whines as Singer sighs, shakes his head. “Look, if they had Zachariah’s big villain speech recorded, they could have wanted to let the other kids know they were being used. You’ve spoken to Novak I’m sure, or at least read his letter. Evidence from the horse’s mouth I think they hoped would help break the control those people had on those kids. So if they found some way to get that message to play for everyone, then they would’ve. I don’t think they knew what was going to happen, Sam’s visions didn’t play on demand. They wouldn’t regret that Brother Zachariah being ripped apart the way he was, but the others that were hurt, I know Sam and Dean didn’t want that.” The dog whines again, responding to the sad tone of voice. Singer cleared his throat. “So that’s it. I’m done talking. The best I can promise you is that if I hear from the boys, I’ll make sure they know you want to talk to them. I know you think that’s crap, but that’s all I can give you. So, you can arrest me, or you can leave my property. Choice is yours.”

 

“Just two more questions, Mr. Singer, and we’ll leave you alone,” Henriksen said, the ‘for now’ not spoken but heard nonetheless. “What do you think the Paragons were doing with those other children, the ones who couldn’t handle their powers or the ones who weren’t powerful enough to suit their purposes?”

 

“I understand there’s a whole lot of woods around that property, Agent. I think I’ll let you draw your own conclusions, I’ve certainly drawn mine. What’s your other question?”

 

“When did Sam and Dean tell you all this?” Henriksen asks, and the man on the porch smiles enigmatically.

 

“Never said they did, agents. Just said I’d talk to you about all this, and I believe I’ve done all of that I’m gonna do. You all drive safe and don’t hurry back, I won’t feel like jawing the next time we meet.”

 

With the mournful howl of the dog echoing in their ears, the two men nod their goodbyes to the man on the porch. Reidy looked at his partner side-eyed as he drives them off the property.

 

“Vic, you know Singer knows where they are, right?”

 

“Oh, he knows,” Henriksen drawls as he checks the mirror. Singer and his dog haven’t moved. “I don’t expect he’ll tell us, though, and if we keep harassing him those boys really will disappear.”

 

“So we’re leaving Mr. Singer alone, then,” Reidy sighs.

 

“For now. Just for now.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

From the porch, the man and the dog watch the black car until its tail lights are no longer visible, then wait another five minutes before their shapes change, revealing their true images. Dean looks down at his brother lying supine at his feet and bursts out laughing.

 

“It’s not funny, Dean,” Sam whines. “Why did you have to talk to them so long?”

 

“What?” Dean gives his brother a hand up and continues to chortle as his brother stretches and tries to brush off the dust and dirt. “I didn’t want them to come back. Unless you want to lie here every damn day. I was doing you a favor, dude.”

 

“Next time I don’t want to be the dog,” Sam grumbles.

 

“I told you man, it’s tricky to do if you aren’t touching me, and I can’t think of too many situations where two people are touching all the time that isn’t suspicious as hell. Not to mention creepy for us, okay? It’s easier for me to do it if I’m Bobby and you’re Jinx the junkyard dog. Who, by the way, is probably more than ready to do his business out here, and you get to clean up the dog crap if he couldn’t hold it.”

 

“You wish, dude,” Sam snorts, then changes the subject. “When’s Bobby coming back?”

 

“Tomorrow night. Why?” Dean responds, and his brother grins mischievously.

 

“Because he’s gonna be pissed that you drank all his beer.” Dean looks at the empty cooler.

 

“Balls,” he says, imitating his surrogate father’s voice and causing his little brother to laugh. “Come on, dude, Andy said he and Charlie would call tonight, give us an update on Operation Robin Hood.” Off his brother’s disgusted look, he adds, “Hey. It’s my mission and that’s the name. So shut it.”

 

“I didn’t say anything, jerk,” Sam protests. Dean slings an easy arm over his shoulder.

 

“Your face said it all, bitch.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

_Excerpt from a letter, undated, received by the New York Times on January 31, 1997_

 

My name was Dr. James Novak. I am currently known as Brother Castiel of the Order of Paragons.

 

I have done terrible things.

 

I began with the best of intentions. My research was intended only to find cures, to make things better. I created a serum that I believed would cure even the most incurable childhood cancers through a process of genetic modification. Then my funding was unexpectedly revoked and I couldn’t get clearance to even do preliminary trials. I met a man who told me he could get me all I needed to continue my research with no strings attached other than that I share my findings with his group.

 

Brother Zachariah lied to me, I knew he was lying because nothing in life comes without cost. I only cared about my research, and I thought the ends would justify the means.

 

If I claimed I had no idea that genetic mutations might result from my work, then that too would be a lie. I thought the number would be small enough, and I thought those children would perish. Since the children we were testing would be nonviable anyway, I found that loss acceptable if I could cure the others. Of course I was overjoyed when the cure worked in 100% of the initial 20 subjects and none died. At least not at the time of treatment. I was so proud, so triumphant.

 

We kept monitoring the treated children. Most of them healed quickly and were ready to resume normal lives, but there was one boy, Scott Carey, who quickly surpassed his previous physical abilities. He became stronger, faster, and more intelligent on every test. And then one day he touched one of the nurses on the arm and she suffered a severe electrical burn. His genes had continued to mutate, like something out of a comic book, I had inadvertently created a child with powers. I had never been so frightened.

 

I explained to Zachariah that we had to stop testing immediately and it was then that he told me about his plans and his benefactors. That the richest men and women of the country had found a way to transfer themselves – their minds, souls, essences, I’m not sure what would adequately describe it – into other people. They had found a way to basically cheat death. They wanted a population of healthy, fit, attractive young adults that they could use for this, and my serum would give them not only physical perfection but possibly superpowers as well. They wanted me to start using the serum not only on children who were ill but on healthy ones to try to force these genetic mutations. I initially refused and they had my wife killed and my daughter Claire taken. To keep her alive I had to not only let them have the serum, but help them with their goals. I will not say I had no choice, because I did. I chose to help them. Scott Carey was one of the first Vessels I witnessed being taken, and I will hear his screams as his essence was destroyed for the rest of my days.

 

Despite these horrors, I continued to administer the serum to new children, I helped separated the ones that had powers and allowed the most powerful of them to be taken as Vessels. I saw other children crumble as their minds couldn’t handle the power they’d been given. I saw so many killed and destroyed and I said and did nothing. I saw no other way to save my daughter. Not until I met Dean Winchester and his brother. They were defiant in a way none of the others had been. Their spirit and determination awakened something in me that I thought was dead. I do not know if you would call it hope, or conscience. Perhaps it is just a reminder of my own free will. Whatever it is, I am going to help them escape and together we will bring down this atrocity.

 

Below is a list of the names of all the ‘Angels’ as well as the ‘Vessels’ provided to them. If the person listed is known to be dead, know that they are almost certainly occupying their Vessel and proceed with caution. I wish no more deaths on my conscience then those we have already destroyed.

 

I cannot ask for mercy, only justice.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! I took a few liberties, but this was the original prompt: 
> 
> scifi - Dean and Sam have grown up in a system since both their parents were murdered, when they were 10 and 6. Without them knowing they have been subjects in a test project to create the perfect being. Both brothers adapted to the treatments in similar and different ways. Their metal abilities increased and so did their psychical. Sam gained mind reading, dream walking and visions while Dean presented with empathy, telekinesis and adaptability (replicate anything you see)


End file.
